Surrender
by chloe x
Summary: She'd been wrong to judge them, wrong to assume anybody could simply overcome it. She knows as well as anybody you can't stop once you've started, and she knows as well as anybody that she herself is too far gone. Blair centric, Blair/Chuck. Two-partner.


Summary: She'd been wrong to judge them, wrong to assume anybody could simply overcome it. She knows as well as anybody you can't stop once you've started, and she knows as well as anybody that she herself is too far gone. Blair centric, Blair/Chuck. Slightly AU. Two-partner.

Author's Note:

Hey everybody (: So this is going to be a two-partner. It's mostly AU, but hopefully not too much that you can't follow. And that's pretty much all I have to say on that, lol. Let me know what you think, cause this is the first time I've written something so non-fluffy, lmao :

This is dedicated to this seriously adorable, super fabulous and just way awesome friend of mine. It's only fair I wrote this for her, seeing as I kept throwing out little paragraphs of BC fiction and never actually creating a story and I think that may have pissed her off just a bit, haha. And then summer rolled around, or more particularly, her birthday month, and I found myself stringing the pieces together (which I'd never imagined doing because originally they were to be of entirely different storylines) and here we are. I know I've said this several times the past week in different birthday gift notes, lol, but thank you for everything. I appreciate our friendship so much and I love you more than freaking words could ever say. So to a truly amazing girl - Happy birthday, Emmy.

--

Part One - Crashing Reality

The date is June 8. The sky is throwing off a dreamy glow of sunshine, even at seven-thirty in the morning. The dew left on the grass from the cool night before shimmers and the bluejays' content chirping can be heard in the background. The breeze is light and the golden leaves rustling.

The day is perfect and Blair Waldorf hates it. She strolls outside purposelessly, for once not caring that she's dressed in only a silk robe thrown over her casual pajamas and fluffy pink slippers. She purses her lips at the bright blue sky, feathery white clouds and mocking sunshine, shielding her hand over her eyes to speculate.

Blair doesn't believe anybody, _anybody,_ could possibly know how desperately she craves to be happy. She imagines this is because everybody is so satisfied by the fact she's _supposed_ to be happy that they don't bother to watch her long enough to notice the several overbearing moments in which her perfectly composed face breaks.

Her mother is rarely home, always in the arms of some doctor, lawyer, or whoever has money, running off to cocktail parties and making an utter fool out of herself. Her excuse is typically, "I'm the name behind a famous fashion line, Blair. When will you grasp that I'm simply too busy to be here for you all the time? It's time you learn to fend for yourself, or call that father of yours, for goodness sake." Except Blair's father is off in France with his gay lover, and she's alone with her maid.

And then there's Serena, who is honestly too self-absorbed to even notice anything wrong with her best friend. On most days, Blair's thankful for this. She'd convinced herself she didn't need looking after or unnecessary attention. She didn't need what she imagined would be silly, unhelpful advice from her silly, unhelpful friends.

But now? All she wants - all she could ever want - is a little acknowledgement. She just wants to be noticed and she doesn't understand why this is so hard for others to grasp. Perhaps a compliment thrown in her direction every now and then? Or some form of appreciative token of gratitude? Praise for her admirably held reputation?

They - _they_ meaning everybody from her supposedly faithful boyfriend to her supposedly devoted followers - take her for granted and don't even realize it. Blair's sure she's the only one who sees this at all.

There's one exception, actually, but Blair barely acknowledges this, because he's _always_ the one exception and the difference he makes honestly shouldn't matter to her. She doesn't want it to matter, anyway.

Chuck Bass sees it, too. He sees the way Nate, Blair's seemingly dutiful and ideal boyfriend of years and years, fawns over Serena - or any girl who is not Blair, for that matter - when he believes nobody is watching. He sees the way Serena dismisses Blair's problems with a little wave and a careless, "Oh, Blair, you worry too much," before starting in on her own reckless yet fascinating _Serena_ stories. He sees the way her mother pressures Blair to be this and be that when she really isn't in the place to, considering the pitiful amount of time Mrs. Waldorf is even around. He sees the way Blair adores her father and the way he barely notices, the way her father comes home every few holidays to share a few laughs before departing again. And most importantly, he sees through Blair's wary, fake smile and practiced air of absentmindedness.

Yet he fails to say anything. Blair realizes he sees and Chuck knows Blair realize, and yet he says nothing. He wants to tell Blair she's beautiful, talented and strong. He wants to tell Blair she needn't care of what others think or say. He wants to tell Blair she's going to be okay. But he doesn't. He doesn't because he knows it won't matter coming from him, and for the most part, he's right.

Because Blair believes it shouldn't matter what Chuck Bass has to say - it's probably just another scheme to get into her pants - and when Blair Waldorf believes in something, it goddamn best be true.

--

The Archibald family ring looks especially dull today. There used to be a glow to it, a certain hope of this promising idea to be Mrs. Nathaniel Archibald forever. It held a particular appeal that Blair had been sure would never fade.

It fades more and more with each passing day and this absolutely _crushes_ Blair. What hope is there when she no longer wants Nate? And what hope is there when Nate has never wanted her?

No hope, Blair believes. No hope.

--

Blair emerges once more from the bathroom stall, smoothing down her skirt and combing her fingers through her hair, hating the bitter taste in her mouth and hating herself for coming to this. She glances up and the mirror captures her, holding her prisoner, so to say. She doesn't like what she sees and now, she really doesn't believe anybody else would. A bullimic, depressed, unloved and unpraised teenage girl. What is there to like, Blair wonders.

Nothing, Blair concedes. Nothing to like.

--

"What happened to you, Waldorf?"

Blair comes to an abrupt stop. She'd been in such a hurry to cross the street without catching any attention that she hadn't noticed Chuck leaning against a coffee shop right in front of her, casually smoking a cigarette with raised eyebrows at Blair's sloppy outfit, pulled up hair, baggy eyes and barely there make-up.

She considers her options. She could ignore him and walk right past, as if he weren't there at all, she could brush it off with a creative excuse and then make a quick escape, or she could tell him to mind his own damn business for once.

She stands there at the edge of the sidewalk, still weighing her options, when she sees Serena and Nate inside the coffee shop, sitting down with their iced lattes and looking extremely cozy. Serena's head is even thrown back as she giggles and Nate looks more pleased than Blair has ever seen by this.

They don't see her. Even more, Blair spies Kati Farkas at the window seat waving, but just as Blair's about to lift her hand to wave back, relieved that somebody is still acknowledging her, she realizes Kati is waving at Hazel, who's walking across the crosswalk behind Blair. Hazel passes right by her but smiles at Chuck as she enters this now infamous coffee shop.

Blair swallows, hurt and embarrassed. When did it come to this? She's Blair fucking Waldorf, for God's sake. She's Queen Bee and top of her class. Girls dream of being her best friend. It didn't get better than that.

And then she frowns, realizing this is all in the past. She's still Blair Waldorf but she's been dethroned without even realizing and honestly, who wants to be Blair Waldorf's best friend when they can be Serena van der Woodsen's?

She loves Serena, she really does, but Serena's a spotlight stealer and even though she doesn't do it deliberately, Blair can't help but hate her for it. It's the one part of her best friend she doesn't see herself ever appreciating. Maybe it's twisted and selfish of her to think so, but hadn't everything gone downhill when Serena returned?

After all, Serena, intentional or not, stole Nate, which meant Nate and Blair's relationship was as good as hopeless. Consequently, Blair was thrown at Chuck and suddenly there are rumors flying that Blair's carrying Chuck's baby because they've been screwing around for months.

And even though nobody believed it, even though Gossip Girl took it back, even though Nate forgave Blair, even though life went on as always, everything had, undoubtedly, changed.

Her head snaps up when she hears a horn beep and a car speeding past. She notices Chuck's careful eyes on her and immediately puts on her it's-whatever-I'm-more-than-okay face, idly wondering how long she'd been standing there pondering when her life had evolved into this desperate disaster.

"Waldorf?" Chuck prods. She notices he's lost the cigarette and is now watching her, a somewhat torn expression on his face, as if he were having an inner battle with himself on what he should do.

Even Chuck doesn't know what to do with her. Even Chuck can't help her now.

Blair glances back into the window, where Nate, Serena, Kati and Hazel still have not noticed her, even standing in front of the shop's door, looking awful and entirely drained. She's practically screaming -- involuntarily, but screaming all the same -- to be put on Gossip Girl, screaming to be _noticed_. "I'm fine," she snaps at Chuck, perhaps a tad too aggressively. She ignores his taken aback expression, almost smirking at it, and brushes straight past him, a bit haughtily.

She begins to wonder if anybody would even miss her if she were gone. It's a dark thought, but her mind is stuck on this. She imagines all her friends and family feeling guilty and heartbroken for a few days and then quickly getting over it. Serena and Nate would probably be relieved they could finally be together without Blair in the way, Blair thinks nastily.

Nobody, Blair decides. Nobody would miss her.

--

Blair strides purposefully and somewhat angrily into her bedroom and towards the windows, yanking the curtains closed, blocking out any sunshine or sign of the brilliant day and breathing heavily, a thousand ideas rushing through her mind.

She wishes there were hope, wishes she were adored, and wishes everybody would cry over her if she were gone, but she supposes it's too much to ask. She wishes she weren't so bored all the time, wishes she could feel something more than the dull ache in her heart, in her head, in her throat, in the pit of her stomach. It aches everywhere, come to think of it. A dull, painful aching she just can't get rid of.

She feels as if she's dangling near the edge of a cliff and if she were any heavier with this soreness, any more depressed because of this rejection, any more exhausted by her now embarrassing yet weary daily routine, she'd tip right over and fall into a vast unknown.

Blair wishes she could have bottled up her last adrenaline rush and open it up now. She breathes in, wistful and dreamy as she tries to imagine that indescribable and glorious feeling. A small smile begins to tug at the corners of her strawberry lip gloss painted lips.

And then she realizes her last real adrenaline rush was with Chuck in the back of a limo and that's enough to push her over the edge.

--

She'd figured it was a bad sign - that she was never just happy or laughing carelessly like a teenage girl should. That she'd fallen out of love, that she could no longer communicate with her best friend. That her own parents were tired of her. That she had become disquietingly accustomed to what used to be an unfamiliar feeling of pressuring tears behind her eyelids and numbness all over.

The pills started two months ago, in April, around the same time rumors began to fly of her and Chuck Bass. It was petty at first - she'd only popped in a few that one time when she thought nothing would ever be the same again. A moment of harsh insecurity and bitter shortcoming.

But then she realized she was right. Nothing ever went back to the way it was - the way Blair so strongly believed it was supposed to be. It honestly couldn't have made much of a difference if all of Manhattan believed there was something going on between Chuck and Blair, because even though the rumors were cleared as false, something changed, and soon enough, everything changed. And so the pills continued.

Blair doesn't think anything will ever go back and to be entirely frank, she doesn't really care anymore, either. Now, she just wants to feel something and she wants others to feel something for her.

She wonders curiously for a minute if she's being a drama queen and reading too much into this, but then she realizes she doesn't care. What did anything matter? She's all alone now, anyway. She's been alone for months.

Queen Bee becomes emo, loner pillhead. Tragic, really.

--

Before she gives herself another moment to mull her impetuous idea over, she's waltzing single-mindedly into the bathroom, pulling open the cupboards and snatching at random pill bottles. She's never tried anything like this before, and she wonders for a moment what the result will be when she realizes, again, she doesn't really care.

How ashamed her family and friends would feel to find Blair Waldorf on the bathroom floor, taunting pill bottles and pills rolling around beside her. How pathetic and weak Gossip Girl might rule her, to have used pills as an escape rather than tough it up.

How did it come to this?

She remembers a time not too long ago when she would scoff at those who abused drugs and spent their life wallowing and ultimately drowning in their self-made pool of traumatic self-pity. She'd say these people were cowardly and beneath her, not strong enough to face their problems. And now she's one of them, Blair realizes too late. It doesn't matter, though. She'd been wrong to judge them, wrong to assume anybody could simply overcome it. She knows as well as anybody you can't stop once you've started, and she knows as well as anybody that she herself is too far gone.

Blair puts away her pride for the time being. She puts away her worries, her wonders, her shame. She puts away everything and now she just feels cold. Empty and cold.

She takes a final glance in the mirror, carefully composing her face into a twisted smirk, and nothing else. Without taking her eyes off her reflection, she brings the various multi-colored tablets up to her mouth, popping in one by one until they've all disappeared. She breathes through her nose, hating the empty flavor of the medicine. She picks up her water bottle, silent and unwavering, lets the water flow into her mouth and then calmly swivels the pills around.

She swallows. Blinks. Gasps. Clutches. Stutters. Swoons. Falls.

She's graceful even in her surrender.


End file.
